My first day living and working in Paris

I arrived yesterday at 11AM on a red-eye flight from BWI>LHR>CDG exhausted. I was not looking forward to the brutal questioning I was expecting from the officers upon arrival to France.

I’ve been keeping a close eye on the news since the November Paris attacks and knew how much they had cracked down on the border, as well as the raiding of houses and the mosques. I expected the worst.

I put my phone away, pulled out my passport and splashed cold water on my face to look alive.

“Why are you working in France? Who will you be working for? Where will you be living? Do you have an emergency contact?” were the minimum questions I was expecting. After living in England for the past two years, I was used to these sorts of questions. It was to be expected as a foreigner coming into another country.

There was not one single question. The guy barely looked at me. This was my first time in Paris with my new passport, my new visa and they didn’t even want to know anything about me?

I shrugged my shoulders as I walked through customs with my new stamp to the baggage claim to find five armed guards with machine guns at the ready. Ah, I wondered, they get them once they are inside France?

There was another moment today when I went for lunch in the La Défense mall by the office, and I got stopped by security asking to have my bags checked. She quickly moved past me to a guy rushing in looking more Muslim than I, and she asked him to open his jacket. The whiter looking guy with me was let go without inspection.

Now this was strange to me — spot checking everyone (or the darker people) who entered a mall?!

Sad days.

Back to yesterday. I didn’t have a phone that worked in France yet, so I had to hail a cab instead of an Ûber knowing that it would be nearly double the price. I had no choice. I needed to get to the apartment at exactly 1pm to meet my landlord.

Amazing how anxious it can be trying to get somewhere in a new country without any method of communication and needing to be on time. How helpless we are sans cell phone.

But it’s true. If I didn’t make it on time I would be stranded on the sidewalk with all my luggage and no working phone in the middle of Courbevoie, a commune 5 miles of outside Paris. So I hurried.

I made it. The landlady greeted me in French, (Bonjour! in case you were wondering) and helped me move my four suitcases up four flights of stairs. Elevators in Paris?! Mais bien sûr que non!

Puffing and wheezing elegantly as any French woman would, she walked me through the apartment speaking only French — I understood about half of it:

“Never turn the heat higher than the 2, the fan above the oven doesn’t work, the counter is sticky due to cleaning spray, there are cracks in the wall, something about free calls to the US and 140 other countries, keys for three different locks on the door — and if you want to stay longer, just give me ten days notice!”

She made all the frailties of the apartment sound très mignon as only someone from this country could do. I was sold!

I slept the entire day and into the night once she left. I woke up at 10pm in my adorable new French apartment replete with ladybugs wishing me good luck in the bathroom, a train zipping by outside my window and New York waving at me from a painting on the wall in the living room. I unpacked, FaceTimed my boyfriend in Los Angeles and called it a night.

This morning I walked 15 minutes to my new gig at the International New York Times. I turned the corner, and there she was! The symbol of all that is Paris, the monument that moves hearts and heals break ups — the grand ole Eiffel Tower rising with the sun in the distance. She was there to greet me, wish me well — like the ladybugs in the bathroom, she made everything OK and full of luck.

And I breathed in.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

It’s all going to be OK. Through all the anxiety, lonely moments and fear, moving and changing ain’t so bad when you have the Eiffel Tower, la pièce de resistance of France, standing tall, bidding hello and goodbye all in the same breath. (And word to the wise, each city or place has their own Eiffel Tower. You just have to look for it.)

For me, it reminds me that right here, right now I am beyond happy. Stubbornly happy. Inextricably lucky. Beyond belief blessed.

Now, Paris, it’s time to do another long, slow beautiful dance together.

Stay tuned for more adventures in Paris!